


Binding Contract

by gingasaur



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Spanking, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingasaur/pseuds/gingasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s the thing about clones,” Ba’al says. “It all runs together."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binding Contract

**Author's Note:**

> You've seen enough hentai to know where this is going.

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa,_ ” Cam says. “The lasers are _in the walls?_ ”

“Great,” Daniel chimes in, staring down about eighty identical barrels of concentrated death.

“Well, that’s just not fair,” Cam finishes.

The lasers are not only in the cold stone walls, but the ceiling, too. The hall in front of them is dark, but they can see the archway adorned with pencil-thin guns, all pointed at them. The door behind them has long since closed.

“It may not be fair,” a voice echoes from the black hall, “but it is your current reality.”

The voice is all too familiar, and Sam feels that foreboding tingle of naquadah shooting up the back of her neck. She bites back a groan when Ba’al steps out of the shadows, clad in his excessive leather and way too happy with himself.

“Well, well,” Ba’al says. He can’t seem to stop grinning. “You’ve all conveniently assembled yourselves, haven’t you?”

“Ugh,” Vala says beside Sam, and she’s grateful for her honesty. She glances over at Teal’c, stern and silent. 

“You’d think you could show a little more gratitude about not being instantly fried out of your bones,” Ba’al says.

“Might have been better than this,” Vala mutters under her breath.

“I’ll make this short,” Ba’al says. “You’re far too close to my lab, and without permission as well. You’ve already discovered my little welcoming gift to trespassers. Where would you like to go from here?”

“Out,” Daniel grumbles.

“A trick question,” Ba’al says. “You’re not in a position to decide anything. _I_ , however, am in that position, and I happen to be feeling generous. I’m prepared to let you leave.”

“In exchange for…?” Cam fills in.

Ba’al fakes a wince. “You wound me, Colonel. I’m offering quite the bargain, mathematically. There are five of you here, and I require only one.”

Sam watches Ba’al’s gaze slide in her direction. Shit.

“No,” she says flatly.

“No, what?” Ba’al saunters over to her, smirking the whole way. “I keep being interrupted before I can say a single word.”

“Whatever it is,” Sam replies, “I don’t want it.”

“Like I said, you don’t have a choice. Here’s what will happen: You,” Ba’al says, pointing to Sam, “will accompany me on a tour of the facilities. You will do so voluntarily and graciously. And when we’re finished, you’ll all be permitted to depart.”

“An unacceptable trade,” Teal’c says, moving in closer to Sam.

“Please,” Ba’al says. “Don’t act like it’s so terrible. Can you even comprehend how much information I’m about to willingly give to you?”

Sam is already thinking about that. Why is Ba’al okay with her seeing every secret his lab has to offer? What does he gain by her walking out unscathed with a truckload of information? Well, she might not get to walk out unscathed. There has to be a catch.

“Do _not_ go in there, Sam,” Cam says. “We’ll find another way.”

But there is no other way. One misplaced breath and they’re all dead where they stand. She knows it, Cam and the rest of them have to know it, and Ba’al certainly knows it. He keeps an expectant eye on her.

“They won’t be hurt if I go with you?” Sam asks.

“Sam!” She can’t tell who shouts her name.

“And neither will you,” Ba’al says to her. “No harm will come to you, I promise.” Yeah, and a promise from Ba’al was worth about as much as piece of wet paper.

“You can’t.” Vala steps in front of her, eyes wide and pleading. Dread drops in Sam’s stomach; if anyone knows what might happen in the depths of this dungeon, it’s Vala.

But there’s nothing else to be done.

Sam reaches down and lightly squeezes Vala’s wrist before stepping past her.

“Fine,” she says.

The rest of the team voices their objections loudly and all at once, but Sam only sees Ba’al and the black hallway in front of her. 

Ba’al’s smile is wide, but his eyes are dark.

\---

Another heavy door slides shut behind them. That’s three. Wherever they’re going, there won’t be any help coming to her.

Ba’al’s boots echo against the floor behind her. Ladies first, sure. Only when it benefits him.

“So why me?” Sam asks.

Stone scrapes against stone as another door lowers itself.

“I find you to be the more pleasant choice for company,” Ba’al answers. “And I can’t seem to stop thinking about you striking me in the face.”

Oh, great. This is _that_ Ba’al?

“Shouldn’t you be dead?” Sam asks. She did see him get shot after he so “bravely” left for “help”. 

“That’s the thing about clones,” Ba’al says. “It all runs together. I suppose I’m not _specifically_ that Ba’al, but what’s the point of us running around if we can’t retain our knowledge?”

Fantastic. A Ba’al with a grudge against her. Sam thinks of Vala’s desperate, fearful expression from before and that weight of dread drops harder.

There’s a dim, flickering light up ahead, and one last door closes as they step through into the lab proper. The lights wink to life with their arrival, revealing blinking crystals, walls of complex machinery, tall tubes of bubbling liquid, huge holographic display terminals. An area in the back past the tubes remains dark, but everything Sam sees, it’s all appropriate for manufacturing clones.

“This used to be one of Nirrti’s laboratories,” Ba’al says, walking past a metal table bolted to the floor. “I have, however, repurposed it for my needs.”

“Repurposed it how?” Sam looks up at the ceiling. Nothing out of the ordinary there, at least to the naked eye.

“Oh, a little tweaking here and there. Just taking what Nirrti had and making it better.” Ba’al runs his hand up one of the tubes of liquid. “I’m not too arrogant to admit she had some beautiful ideas.”

There’s nothing beautiful about almost melting into a puddle. Sam grimaces inwardly at the memory.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Ba’al says with a smirk. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

“I’ll be fine right here,” Sam says.

“Suit yourself,” Ba’al says. “I suppose we can start no matter where you stand.” He moves to a row of drawers and pushes one in. It opens at his touch, and he procures a bottle of orange liquid, along with a large, shining needle.

“If you think I’m just going to let you clone me without a fight, you’re wrong.” Her chest has tightened without her realizing.

“Clone you?” Ba’al asks, not even looking up from filling the syringe. “Who said anything about cloning you?”

“I’d say it’s the logical conclusion.”

“Logical,” Ba’al says, “but ultimately incorrect. I won’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind, but the last thing I need is two of you trying to undercut my plans.”

Well, he seems to have some sense after all.

“So you’re just drugging me for fun, then?” Sam asks.

Ba’al lowers the needle and stares at her. “Do you normally jump to this many conclusions or is this a special occasion?” He returns to the syringe, topping off the rest of the glass barrel with the mystery liquid. “This isn’t for you, although I’m sure we could find something else that would suit your… unique physiology.” He’s not at all shy about gazing up and down her body.

“No thanks,” Sam says. She’s rapidly running out of guesses as to what’s going on here.

Ba’al goes back to the tubes, slinking past them into the darkened area. After a few moments, he comes back into the light with an empty needle.

“I’m sure you’ve wondered how I managed to produce such a large number of flawless clones,” Ba’al says.

She will admit some curiosity, but not to him. Even the Asgard know that cloning is a flawed science.

“It was not without its risks and trials,” Ba’al continues. “I slaved over the process, locked in this place, not seeing sunlight for weeks at a time. But the rewards, as you know, were worth all the trouble.”

“I’m assuming you have a point,” Sam says.

“The point, I believe, will speak for itself.”

Ba’al steps out of the way, folds his arms, and waits.

Something shifts in the shadowed area of the lab, and Sam wants to grab for weapons she doesn’t have. She hears soft shuffling and some other sound she can’t quite place. Something… moist is dragging along the floor.

She half-expects to see a limping three-legged Ba’al, or a Ba’al with extra arms, or some sort of animal-Ba’al hybrid.

Instead, out of the darkness slithers a rippling mass of flesh. It has no legs, no arms, no head – no semblance of any part of a human or animal body. It’s just _there_ , but it’s clearly alive, as it moves with purpose, stretching parts of itself to inspect its surroundings. There is a dark spot in the center of it, toward the top in the middle, and only when the spot appears and disappears does she realize that it’s blinking, and “it” is an eye.

An eye staring at her.

She’s aware her mouth is hanging open, but she can’t think of even one question that would make sense of this sight.

“I present to you,” Ba’al says with a satisfied smirk, “me. Or rather, the beginnings of me.”

Now that Sam looks at it, that thing’s eye is Ba’al’s; it’s as if he’s copied and pasted it from his own head.

She suppresses a shiver.

“This was the result of my initial cloning attempt,” Ba’al continues. “As you can see, it doesn’t have much to offer the world.”

Oh, it has something to offer: feelings of disgust, for one.

“I intended to put the poor thing out of its misery, but after observing it for a while, I realized it wasn’t in any pain, and not only that, but it was perfectly intelligent as well. It will never be able to attain my level of intellect,” Ba’al smugly adds, “but it can reason, solve problems, even communicate in its own way.”

Sam can’t imagine holding much of a conversation with this, although with the way it’s keeping its eye trained on her, it probably wouldn’t mind trying.

“In the end,” Ba’al says, “I just couldn’t bear to kill it.”

The prototype clone suddenly shoots out three tendrils along the floor toward Sam’s boots. She takes a step back and the tendrils stop. The rest of the body, however, creeps up to meet its extended appendages.

“You’ll have to forgive its excitement; it’s never encountered anything like you before.”

“That makes two of us,” Sam says.

“Why don’t you properly welcome our guest?” Ba’al says to the prototype.

“I think I’ve been welcomed enough,” Sam replies. The prototype is moving again, wiggling around in place, making itself larger. Sam moves backwards, bumping into the row of drawers, and immediately pushes one in. She doesn’t care what’s in it, she’ll take anything, but the drawer doesn’t open.

“Those only open for me,” Ba’al tells her. He hasn’t moved, but Proto-Ba’al continues its energetic approach. “I performed so many tests, but I never was able to figure out just how much of me made it into him.”

Five extensions of flesh shoot up from its back, with four more following from the sides.

“Although, I think,” Ba’al says, “I’m about to find out.”

All nine tendrils shoot toward Sam’s head, and she ducks just long enough to watch more speeding toward her legs. She takes off toward the other side of the lab, which she already knows to be a largely pointless endeavor. There’s nothing here for her: nothing she can use to fight, no places to hide, and no way to leave. Ba’al has planned well, keeping every tool locked away and everything else fixed to the floor. What will she do, run around the room for hours?

With the way Proto-Ba’al’s slithering along behind her, she’s not likely to last five minutes.

On her left and her right, there are tentacles easily keeping up with her. She swats one away from her shoulder and another from her hip, but then one locks itself around her wrist, yanking her backwards. She swings around and digs her fingernails into its rubbery flesh until it jerks back and lets go.

In that time, more tentacles surround her, wrapping around her ankles and pulling her feet out from under her. She flies toward the floor, but never hits it, as more tentacles pull at her arms and take her up into the air. She kicks and twists, but her thrashing can’t compete with Proto-Ba’al’s strength. It continues stretching, spreading her arms and her legs until she can’t move at all, and she cries out as her back finally hits the ceiling.

Great, now even if she weren’t held in place by a freaky lab accident, she’d just fall and break an arm.

Ba’al works his way over to them, looking up.

“Well,” he says. “You tried.”

On second thought, falling and breaking an arm might not be so bad.

“As you can see,” Ba’al says, “while unsightly, it’s just as strong as any Goa’uld. Perhaps stronger with its versatility of body parts. Don’t feel too inadequate.”

Sam ignores Ba’al, looking down at the clone instead. Its hold is firm while it stares with that single horror movie eye.

“Don’t keep her there all day,” Ba’al says to the clone. “Let’s move things along.”

The prototype pulls her back down much more gently. Sam is taken aback for a second by the sudden change in demeanor, until her arms are forced behind her back and then it feels more like business as usual. She grimaces as more tentacles wrap around her thighs and her waist. It’s not a painful hold, but it is secure. She’s not going anywhere.

Ba’al drags a chair over from the back of the lab and sits before Sam, still looking like he’s just won the lottery about five times over.

“I will admit, I had my doubts that this would work,” he says with a grin.

“So how long did you have to spend puzzling out how to catch us?” Sam asks, scowling.

“Not ‘us’,” Ba’al says, leaning forward. “You.” 

He snaps his fingers at the prototype. “Closer,” he demands, and the clone complies, slithering up to Ba’al with Sam in tow.

“Now,” he says. “How are we going to do this?”

He doesn’t immediately reveal what “this” is. Sam’s thoughts jump to a symbiote and her blood chills. He’ll use Proto-Ba’al to keep her still while he lets a symbiote crawl up her back, its pincers sinking into her neck…

Ba’al pulls at the zipper of her jacket, watching its path as he slowly moves it down.

“Ideally we’d just rip this all off,” he says, “but I think it’s better if things remain intact, don’t you?” The zipper reaches its end and Ba’al’s eyes meet hers. “We should avoid unnecessary speculation.”

He keeps eye contact as his hand travels downward, his fingers brushing against her belt. Sam jerks backward reflexively, but Ba’al chuckles and holds on, undoing the buckle with ease.

“You’re going to prove very useful for this next experiment,” Ba’al says, his hand running along the curve of her hip. “And it will have the added benefit of humiliating you completely.” He pulls at the hem of her shirt, lifting it up over her breasts. He lingers for a moment on the sight of her bra.

“Black,” he says. “Who is this for, I wonder?”

Sam pulls at her superhuman bonds, but Proto-Ba’al’s hold on her doesn’t budge. Three tentacles find her bare skin, and her muscles tighten as they explore her stomach and her back.

“Go ahead,” Ba’al says, sitting back in his chair. Proto-Ba’al instantly hums with new energy that Sam can feel. The tentacles holding her bulge, becoming larger and sturdier, and she gasps as they raise her up again. She is swarmed by smaller ones that pull at her clothes, raising her shirt and her jacket above her head. She tries to fight them as they undo her boot laces, yank her pants down, and somehow manage to release their grip on her thighs just long enough for everything to slip off. Taking advantage of this tiny gap in control is impossible, and even though she pulls and twists and yells in frustration, Proto-Ba’al turns her over and does the same thing with her shirt. She can only watch as her dog tags are pulled up over her head and dumped onto the floor.

Sam is lowered again, her thighs and arms shaking as she tries to pull away. But Proto-Ba’al continues to hold her tight, giving Ba’al an unobstructed view of her, level with him in her underwear.

“Who would have thought the great Samantha Carter could be rendered so helpless?” Ba’al asks.

“You couldn’t even do it by yourself,” Sam snaps, shivering against the cool air on her skin. “I wouldn’t be so proud.”

The tentacles seem to be increasing in number, their exploration of Sam’s body almost feverish. They roughly slither along, prodding at her underwear and slipping under the straps of her bra.

“Oh, just get those off, I don’t care how,” Ba’al commands. “No one needs to know about what she’s missing underneath.”

At those words, Proto-Ba’al yanks hard, and Sam hears cloth rip and snap. What’s left of her undergarments flutters to the floor.

Ba’al snaps his fingers again and rises from his chair. Proto-Ba’al hesitates for just a moment before pulling the smaller tentacles away from her body. It pushes Sam’s arms behind her back again and pulls her legs open. Shaking with fury and fear, she is presented to Ba’al.

“They’ll kill you if you do this,” Sam says, determined to keep her voice even.

“You’d risk the shame of letting them find out?” Ba’al asks.

“If it means you’re dead,” Sam replies.

Ba’al shakes his head, laughing. “You know,” he says, “before, I could barely remember your name, but now…” He zeroes in on her exposed breasts, taking a good look before touching her.

Sam turns her head away from him, but she hears him laugh again as he grabs her. He runs his fingers along the curves of her breasts, pushes and pulls at them, relishing his unrestricted access. Sam winces as he tugs at one nipple, pinching it softly. He bends forward just enough to take it into his mouth, and he rolls her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he savors her skin.

He rolls his tongue around the nipple in his mouth, his breath hot on sensitive flesh. He makes a deep sound that buzzes through her as he sucks and grabs ample handfuls. Not wanting to be unfair, he soon moves from one breast to the other, sucking at her again and leaving her skin cold and wet.

He teases Sam until her nipples stand firm. She tries to keep breathing, her face burning with disgust.

Ba’al heads back to the chair, unzips his pants, and sits down. He gestures to Proto-Ba’al, who quickly resumes its own enjoyment of Sam’s body. She grits her teeth as tentacles swirl around her thighs, slide up her stomach and curl around her breasts, wrap around her neck. Her arms are pulled above her head as her breasts are squeezed.

In front of her, Ba’al is erect, his hand moving idly up and down his shaft as he watches.

Proto-Ba’al tugs at Sam’s wrists, pulling her until she is on her back in midair, her legs up and spread apart. She can see the door to the lab now, upside down and still closed. She doesn’t know whether to pray it bursts open or stays shut.

She pulls her head up, trying to keep an eye on Ba’al, but a tentacle grabs at her hair, forcing her head back. Another hovers in front of her, a hole opening in the tip to reveal what looks like a tongue, long and thin and red. It licks her cheek, leaving a thick and slimy trail of saliva.

The swarm has grown so much that Sam feels as if she’s in the middle of spider web. The clone of Ba’al is not that large, and the sheer number of limbs it’s managed to produce and stretch should be impossible. She’ll never be able to break free, not unless it lets her go, and that probably won’t be happening.

Sam spies two thin mouths and tongues floating above her chest. They lunge at her, closing around her nipples, wriggling excitedly. More tongues lick at the sides of her breasts, like little snakes lapping up water.

She keeps telling herself she’ll get through this, that no matter what happens, she won’t give Ba’al the satisfaction of watching her cower in fear. A part of her still insists everything will be okay even as she continues to be ruthlessly molested. Something will happen, right? Something always happens and she’s able to make it out of danger. There’s still time for the door to burst open, for everyone to come to her rescue. She can do something to keep stalling, she can-

A tentacle brushes against her ass, making her jump. Another comes up in front of her, larger than the ones still attached to her breasts. It moves toward her mouth, touching her lips, and she clamps her jaw shut and turns away. It follows, but she won’t open her mouth, so it pushes against her cheek instead.

Tentacles wrap around her breasts again, squeezing hard. Sam still doesn’t budge. A tentacle brushes against her ass for a second time. She tries not to think about it, but it slips itself between her buttocks and her eyes widen. It slides up slowly, as if it knows exactly what it’s doing, and her legs begin aching from the tension of instinctively trying to close them. The tentacle slides past her perineum and up to her labia, pressing against the folds, but it keeps moving up, and she flinches as it nudges her clitoris.

Her heart pounds while color drains from her face. God, not like this, not with this monstrous Ba’al reject, not while Ba’al himself gets a full view…

The tentacle at her mouth still persists in its efforts to slip past her lips, and Sam refuses to let it win. But as she clenches her teeth and balls her hands into fists, tentacles suddenly convene down below, thin and wispy. She jerks hard as two of them spread her buttocks and she gasps involuntarily. In that moment, the determined tentacle finally dives into her mouth. Enraged, Sam lets out a muffled yell and bites down hard.

Instead of withdrawing, the tentacle collapses where it was bitten. Out gushes warm, thick, sweet liquid that easily slips down Sam’s throat. The edges of her vision instantly soften. Heat travels all the way down her throat, into her stomach, through her legs and back up again. Much to her horror, the tentacle bulges and releases more of this fluid and she has no choice but to swallow that, too. She blinks rapidly as her vision wavers like water in a pond. Her blood thrums in her veins, pooling in chest and her genitals.

An aphrodisiac, she concludes. One that Proto-Ba’al can pump into her any time it wants.

With her buttocks still spread, a tiny tongue reaches her asshole, and she can’t hold back a muffled cry. Her newly electrified nerves respond in earnest but still she tries to struggle free, lurching back and forth as the tongue tickles her anus.

As if responding to her resistance, Proto-Ba’al grips her tighter. The tentacle in her mouth slips out while the others begin to reposition her, shifting her onto her stomach. Her ass is raised, and her arms are pulled back, and her legs are spread wide. Sam stares beneath her, trying to see what’s happening, and she catches sight of Ba’al, transfixed and still masturbating. 

The thin, tickling tentacle quietly slips into her asshole, filling her with heat. Her blood pounds with arousal; the aphrodisiac is powerful, more powerful than it has any right to be, and a tentacle wriggling in her ass should feel repulsive, not pleasurable.

Her breasts are ensnared for a third time, little mouths licking at her hardened nipples once more. Tentacles swirl around her like animals circling prey, and they poke and prod at her, rubbing themselves against her skin as she squirms helplessly. Her vagina comes back under attack with numerous tentacles gathering around, massaging her and teasing her clit.

A head nudges at her lips. Sam looks down and her stomach lurches.

“Call it off,” Sam pleads. “Call it off!”

But Ba’al isn’t listening. His eyes are dark and focused.

Slowly, the tentacle makes its way inside. Each push is agonizing, lighting up her body in a firestorm of pleasure. Pleasure seems too hideous a word, given that no torture she’s ever experienced could compare to this awful moment, but her body is firmly under the aphrodisiac’s spell and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

The tentacle settles inside her and she opens up easily, her body seemingly hungry for further punishment. The slim one in her ass begins to move and another slips back into her mouth. No part of her is unrestrained, no part of her unexposed.

A thrust jolts her out of her misery. Proto-Ba’al eases into a rhythm – it moves her back and forth, her breasts moving as it pumps in and out. As if she isn’t already overcome by the whole ordeal, a fourth tentacle, complete with tongue and mouth, affixes itself to her clit. Lightning travels through her and she screams.

Heat washes over her and electric tingles bubble up in her legs. _No, no,_ she thinks, shuddering. _This can’t be happening._ She hears herself moan, hears wet sounds and her muffled breaths. Her mind is fixed on the mental image of the tentacle sucking her clit. She whimpers pitifully.

Suddenly she tightens around the tentacles, their pace uninterrupted. Her muscles clench, a guttural sound works its way up from her throat, and she moans around the tentacle in her mouth, bucking and writhing.

It goes on for far too long. When her body finally can’t take it anymore, she falls limp, and the tentacles come to a stop and slip out of her. She’s covered in her own sweat, gasping for breath as she hangs in Proto-Ba’al’s net. An aftershock hits her and she arches into it, groaning deeply.

She stares at the floor, completely spent.

Ba’al rises from his chair. “Magnificent,” he says. “Better than I ever expected.”

Even upside down, Sam can see Ba’al is still erect. She makes a weak sound as he approaches her.

“Now,” Ba’al says, stepping in front of her. He raises her chin with one finger. “I suppose I don’t need to ask how you’re doing.”

Sam gives him a miserable, hate-filled glare.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Ba’al says. “You’ll never experience anything like that outside of this room.”

Sam certainly hopes not.

“It’s a pity, really, that this has to remain our little secret,” Ba’al says. “I would have loved to record you.” He smirks down at her. “We’ll just have to continue making this as memorable as possible.” Ba’al massages her chin, his fingers squeezing at her jaw. “If you bite,” he says, prying her mouth open, “your friends are dead.”

Sam shuts her eyes.

Ba’al groans, settling himself onto her tongue. He takes a fistful of Sam’s hair and slowly moves his hips.

Sam imagines Teal’c blasting a hole through Ba’al’s chest. They’ll kill him, _she’ll_ kill him.

Jack’s face pops into her head as Ba’al hits the back of her throat. Jack, who would probably have a psychotic break if he found out about this, assuming Sam doesn’t lose it first. Jack, whose expression would shift from disbelief to pain and anger…

She thinks about Jack closing his hands around Ba’al’s throat instead.

He is rock hard inside her mouth. Grunting, he picks up his pace. Meanwhile, Sam feels a light touch behind her and her eyes snap open. Tentacles have returned, exploring wherever they can and prodding at sensitive spots. Sam isn’t capable of much in the way of movement, but she makes a show of resistance anyway. She’ll fight them every step of the way if she has to. 

Ba’al’s cock twitches, but he sighs and slips out of her mouth. “I can see your heart’s not really in this. Perhaps another round will get you more enthusiastic.”

Another round? Sam’s eyes widen.

“No,” she says, yanking on her bonds, but Ba’al just laughs at runs a finger up between her legs. She stiffens at the contact.

“Bring her here,” Ba’al says, but Proto-Ba’al lingers for a moment.

Ba’al notices this hesitation and scowls. “Now,” he commands.

Proto-Ba’al stares up at Sam, its one eye blinking lazily. She stares back, both apprehensive and puzzled. In its moment of idleness, Sam pulls hard at Proto-Ba’al again, trying to twist her way out of its grip. 

Her mind races, trying to decode its dynamic with Ba’al. The clone has been allowed to do what it pleases, but only as long as those things are in line with what Ba’al wants to see. She remembers Ba’al injecting it with something before it slipped out of the shadows, remembers him snapping his fingers to get it to obey.

Has the clone ever been outside? Has it seen anything aside from Ba’al? Has it ever existed outside of Ba’al’s experiments?

More importantly, can she use this against Ba’al?

“How long,” Sam says, “have you been his prisoner?”

Ba’al laughs. “My _prisoner?_ ” He folds his arms across his chest. “This clone knows his place here. Unlike you, apparently.”

Sam ignores him. “What does he do to you?” she asks the prototype. “You’re not treated like the others, are you?”

Ba’al continues to watch them, amused.

“It isn’t fair that he gets to give you all the orders, is it?” Sam asks. “It isn’t-”

She’s interrupted by Proto-Ba’al bending her over in the air. She tries to raise herself back up, but a tentacle plants itself between her shoulder blades, holding her down.

“Stop it!” she shouts. “You don’t have to-”

She’s interrupted again, this time by a stinging smack on her ass, then another, and another. Proto-Ba’al uses its tentacles like whips, slapping them against her, and she’s far too busy crying out in pain to say anything more. He spanks her without mercy, until she is red and sore and miserable. 

“Now,” Ba’al says, looking satisfied. “Bring her here to me.”

This time, Proto-Ba’al complies.

Ba’al places his palm against Sam’s pained flesh. She hisses and tries unsuccessfully to pull away.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” Sam asks. “They’ll get suspicious.” She thinks she sounds small and afraid.

“Yes, even I know I’d spark intergalactic war if I did this forever.” Ba’al grins at her, then says, “Of course, if you elected to stay, no war would occur. What do you think?” He pulls her closer, his hand still gripping her ass and her breasts flush with his chest. “A lifetime of pleasure, more power than the Tau’ri could ever give you.”

Even with the upper hand, he still mocks her.

She spits in his face.

Ba’al steps back, chuckling and wiping himself off.

“Turn her over,” he says, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Proto-Ba’al has Sam flipped upside down. She tries to use the momentum to break free, but Proto-Ba’al’s hold is more secure than ever.

Ba’al appears soon after, looking down at her from between her open thighs.

“Believe it or not,” he says. “I’d rather not take you traditionally. A little more risk than I’m willing to entertain at the moment. But I would like you to be a bit more loosened up.”

She feels him touch her, his fingertips tracing around the rim of her asshole. Then he moves up, spreading her open with two fingers. “Here,” he says, and then a tentacle hovers into view, bulging near the tip. Sam only gets a split second of recognition before fluid bursts forth and when it hits her, she goes rigid. The arousal is instantaneous, her pulse thundering within her. Her face flushes and she grits her teeth, trying to hold on.

Ba’al puts his hands around her thighs and inhales deeply, brushing his lips against her skin. He encloses her with his mouth, sucking up the fluid. Sam bucks again, the sensation bringing stars to her vision. Ba’al takes his time, his tongue working slowly, tasting inside her and moving back up to her clit, on and on and on. Heat radiates from her skin and her muscles contract eagerly. She throws her head forward and back, willing herself away from the edge.

She breathes heavily when he steps away, beads of sweat running down her stomach.

“Prepare her,” Ba’al says. 

One thin tentacle swirls up around her, hovering above her and twitching excitedly. It studies both holes, moving above each one until it smoothly slips into her ass.

Already, something is different. It’s warm and it pulses, expanding and contracting in soft waves. More small tentacles move up, placing themselves like little worms along her labia, massaging her gently.

The tentacle in her ass continues to build itself up in size, and Sam feels stretched to capacity and jerks away. The tentacle stays with her, still growing.

“Stop,” Sam says, her voice close to begging. “I can’t, it’s too-”

A large lump travels down the length of the tentacle, and she watches in horror as it disappears into her body. The tentacle vibrates like it’s buckling under pressure, and then suddenly Sam feels a burst of fluid inside.

“No!” she shouts, brought straight back to the edge again. She groans aloud, writhing uncontrollably.

The tentacle stretches her further, growing ever larger and squirting more drops of its juices. Sam fights it, dread mounting as she struggles more and more against the sensation of the plugged fluid. It burns and sets her nerves alight, pleasure spreading faster than she can handle it.

“G-get out,” she pleads. Her eyes are wide and her muscles twitch. It’s too much; between the smaller tentacles stimulating her and the aphrodisiac inside her, she can feel how wet she’s become.

The tentacle bulges once more, sinking further inside while Sam gurgles and gasps and thrashes. Ba’al must be laughing at her desperation, but she doesn’t care: the fluid has to come out or she’ll lose it completely.

Proto-Ba’al draws the tentacle out and in, slowly at first. Sam’s entire body is a firework waiting to explode. She realizes her mouth is open when she feels a cold drop of saliva running down her cheek. 

The tentacle pistons in her ass, the juices squirting out from the sides. It drips onto her skin and she tries so hard to ride it out, but there’s a flood barreling down on her and she can’t get away. The tiny tentacles brush together against her clit, and she hears herself scream but can’t seem to connect the sound with her own voice. 

The tentacle withdraws and the aphrodisiac gushes out, running down her body as she moans and shakes.

Fluid drips onto the floor as she comes back to her senses, staring ahead of her in shock. Proto-Ba’al lowers her onto itself, curling tentacles around her wrists and ankles, even though she can’t move even if she wants to. Juices leak out of her and for the first time throughout this whole ordeal, she is close to tears from the shame. Even though she lies on top of Proto-Ba’al, stretched out like some sort of haunted day bed beneath her, she feels dizzy.

Ba’al looks down at her with some mixture of amusement and pity.

“Honestly, you have naquadah in your blood,” he says. “You should be able to last a little longer than that.”

Sam doesn’t waste her breath with a reply, not that she has any breath left to spare. 

It occurs to her that Ba’al is still displaying himself shamelessly, and he’s still hard.

“I suppose it’s time to bring this to its conclusion,” he says. He turns around and goes back to the rows of drawers, pushes one open and removes a large syringe with two prongs beside the very large needle. Some sort of Goa’uld invention, perhaps. Ba’al fills it with the orange liquid from before.

“Tell me, Samantha, will you writhe for me as much as you’ve writhed for him?” Ba’al returns to them, the needle gleaming as it catches the light. He kneels down, but instead of zeroing in on the clone, Ba’al moves the needle toward Sam’s arm.

“What the hell,” she manages, jerking away from Ba’al’s hands.

“Oh, right,” Ba’al says. “This one _is_ for you. You seem so tired, and we’re not finished.”

Sam’s endured so much, but somehow the idea of Ba’al injecting her with his weird drugs pushes her over the line. She rears up, shaking as she tries to get away from the needle. 

Somehow, Proto-Ba’al’s grip on her goes slack, and to her shock, she is able to yank both her arms free. She doesn’t take much time to think about this improbable good fortune, her hands clamping down on Ba’al’s wrists.

“What is this?” Ba’al growls. He wrings the hand without the needle out of Sam’s grip, grabbing a handful of Proto-Ba’al instead. “ _Hold_ her, you stupid-”

A tentacle pummels Ba’al in the face, sending him straight to the floor, the needle skittering away. Proto-Ba’al’s limbs pump up, growing twice their normal size and roaring past Sam’s head so quickly, she feels a breeze against her ears.

Ba’al tries to leap to his feet and fails, the tentacles overwhelming him and knocking him on his back again. His struggle is all too familiar to Sam, who watches, stunned, as Ba’al is lifted unwillingly into the air, exactly as she had been.

Ba’al’s eyes glow, his mouth curled into a scowl. “Insolence,” he snarls.

_It’s just as strong as any Goa’uld. Perhaps stronger with its versatility of body parts._

The muscles in Ba’al’s wrists bulge as he struggles against his malformed clone. His arms and legs can’t budge in Proto-Ba’al’s grip, and he roars with anger.

“Release me and I may let you live!” His voice is full Goa’uld now, deep and unnatural, but Proto-Ba’al responds by ensnaring Ba’al’s dick. He cries out and hisses breaths through clenched teeth.

Sam feels a tentacle at her back, pushing her to sit up. She watches Ba’al fighting to break free, watches tentacles push and pull at his clothes. Proto-Ba’al is warm beneath her, its body humming gently as it rips Ba’al’s pants in half. There is no care taken with his clothing, and Proto-Ba’al seems eager to divest him of everything as soon as possible. Shredded leather flops to the floor.

Ba’al laughs at the last of it is removed.

“What do you think you’ll accomplish with this? If you go any farther,” he says, “your short existence is finished.”

Proto-Ba’al ignores him, wrapping up his bared flesh in tendrils, coiling around his legs, his arms, his waist, and finally his neck, squeezing enough that Ba’al winces.

“And you,” he chokes out, looking down at Sam. “You’ll let him ravage me, too? You won’t even try another impassioned speech?” He smirks as Proto-Ba’al continues to squeeze his throat. “Where are your morals now?”

Something flares up inside Sam, a flame popping to life. This son of a bitch never quits. He’ll drag her into hell and try to put the onus on _her_ when he gets stuck? That flame inside her curls and warps, spiraling fast under fatigue and trauma. Why should she be the only one to suffer? Ba’al walked himself right into this; it’s only fair he should see just how it’ll turn out.

“What do you know about my morals?” she asks.

She should be chastising herself for sinking to his level, but right now, Sam doesn’t care. She wants revenge.

As if responding to her wishes, Proto-Ba’al pulls at Ba’al’s shaft. It squeezes from the bottom up, and tiny tentacles, so very thin, slip around his balls. Ba’al’s legs twitch.

Sam feels prodding between her thighs. Out pops one tentacle that slides up between her breasts, while two more come up to the sides, pushing them together. Her thighs are wrapped up and she can feel Proto-Ba’al attempting to pull them apart.

She looks down and there is the eye, staring up from between her legs.

“Please,” she mutters. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

Proto-Ba’al tightens his hold, lifting her up. She is kept upright, her arms tied behind her back and her legs spread as far as they will go. The tentacle sandwiched between her breasts starts to move up and down, moisture oozing from the tip.

Ba’al still endures his own troubles across from her. She can see the small, slimy little tentacles at his ass, rustling around, causing Ba’al to jerk and shudder. Tentacles travel to his chest, flicking his nipples, while his dick and his balls are still being worked over.

He glares at Sam.

“Enjoy the view while you can,” he says, looking below her. Before Sam has a chance to follow his gaze, she feels the telltale tickling at her ass again.

Proto-Ba’al fondles the both of them, putting them on shameless display. Its movements become more frantic and forceful, like it simply can’t wait any longer to indulge. The tentacles at Sam’s breasts release, only to introduce larger ones equipped with mouths. Their tongues swirl around in the air, seeking her out as they move closer.

Something near Ba’al catches her eye: the thinnest tentacle yet, dancing around the head of his penis. The ones at his ass move up, disappearing inside him. Ba’al groans as they sink in.

Ba’al looks down just as the thin tentacle pokes at his urethra. His eyes widen, and Sam’s do, too, as she watches the tentacle dive inside. Ba’al yells, bucking as the tentacle slithers back and forth in a place it shouldn’t be. Despite this, Ba’al looks harder than ever, his balls practically solid.

Sam feels a chill, and realizes she’s being pried open. She looks down and sees a tentacle waiting patiently, a tongue protruding from its center. The mouths seeking out her breasts haven’t forgotten her, and in the blink of an eye, they affix to her nipples, but they don’t stop there. They take in her breasts, all the way to the middle, and suck hard, pulling one while pushing the other, back and forth, over and over. Juice spills out from the sides of the mouths, coating her skin and dripping down her body. The tongues pull at her nipples and the sensation makes her sweat. She throws her head back and grits her teeth.

She’s still being held open, cold air mingling with the hot breath of the tentacle beneath her. Its tongue samples her moist opening, running itself along the outer walls in a circle and of course, stopping every so often to sample her clit.

She tries to concentrate on Ba’al, on the fact that she no longer suffers alone. Ba’al’s face is bright red, furious as he tries to combat what she knows is overpowering arousal, even for him. The tongue in his urethra wiggles at a frenetic pace and his prostate is probably under ruthless stimulation from the tentacles squirming in his ass. His breathing becomes more and more erratic, his abs tighten as he fights the rising pleasure. All together, the tentacles in his ass push up, and Ba’al lets out a long, hard cry. His urethra is vacated quickly and out spills white.

Sam almost laughs out loud.

“So,” she says. “It’s not so fun now, is it?”

Ba’al can’t seem to respond, his breathing labored as his dick falls limp. A few final drops make their way out of the tip.

But Proto-Ba’al is far from finished with him, and a tentacle shoots into his open mouth. Sam sees Ba’al swallow almost immediately, one, two, three times, and juices drip from his chin. She’ll be next, she knows, but right now, seeing Ba’al primed for more torment is invigorating. Just as long as he’s miserable, too, she feels like she could suffer anything.

Another mouth opens and closes, kissing Ba’al’s flaccid flesh. This bizarre show of tenderness doesn’t last long, as the mouth opens wide, enveloping him down to the hilt while juices ooze out. 

Meanwhile, the mouths at Sam’s breasts pop off, leaving her coated in hot fluid. Her breathing picks up and she shuts her eyes as a shiver passes through her. She becomes fixated on the rise and fall of her breasts, the licking of her clit and ass. What’s taking so long? 

_Just get it over with_ , she thinks, arching her back.

She knows Proto-Ba’al won’t leave her hanging, and in fact, it seems alight with infinite energy; she can’t imagine it being able to resist her much longer. She aches, her skin flushed and her pupils dark.

Tentacles rush up to both of them. One dives into her mouth, pumping in juice. Ba’al’s hands are wrestled behind his back, his legs pushed open wide. His dick rises again, encouraged by fevered, aphrodisiac-riddled sucking. His ass is pried open, a larger tentacle dives in. He grunts around the tentacle still in his mouth.

Sam, too, is quickly filled. She shakes all over as she moans.

With both of them at Proto-Ba’al’s mercy, the tentacles inside them start to move, pumping them up and down with an alternating rhythm, fucking them in every hole. Sam’s breasts are bound, Ba’al’s shaft ensnared. Each thrust is deep, deeper than anyone will ever be inside Sam. Her self-control frays at the edges. She knows it’s the aphrodisiac, but it’s becoming harder and harder to care. The tentacles are huge and hard and Ba’al’s right, she’ll never feel anything like this outside of this room.

They raise her arms and pull her hips back, changing the angle just enough to send a wave of heat shooting through her. Her eyes roll back and she moans again around the tentacle in her mouth. The thrusts come faster, each one making her tingle. The tentacles around her breasts squeeze hard, but it feels good. The pace is rough and it’s punishing, but so satisfying. This is what she needs. This is the only way she’ll ever be released from this wretched room.

Ba’al looks equally hypnotized, his eyes half-open and unfocused as Proto-Ba’al pounds him. His chest glistens with sweat and Proto-Ba’al’s fluids. It’s a filthy sight and Sam can’t avert her eyes. She wants to laugh and cry at the same time while images of her team and of Jack pop into her mind again. She might not be able to look any of them in the eyes when she leaves this place.

How _will_ she leave? She’s disgusting, covered in gunk, and where did Ba’al put her clothes? They’ll be covered in glop, too, at this rate. Oh, she needs to get out of here, she needs to-

A hard thrust jolts her out of her thoughts. The tentacles stay in deep and don’t move, and she shudders as her own weight presses her down onto them. She tries to pull herself up by her wrists, but she’s held so tightly, exactly how Proto-Ba’al wants her and no further.

The tentacles move quickly, slipping out of her mouth and her ass, pushing her down, flipping her onto her back. Like before, she tries to hold her head up, but her spreading legs move things just right, and without much resistance, she throws her head back and cries out.

She spies Ba’al, upside down from her view, but she can see him bent over in the air, snarling obscenities and struggling for control he’ll never get. Then, as if finally fed up with Ba’al’s griping, Proto-Ba’al slaps a tentacle against his ass. Ba’al freezes, grunting as his skin is imprinted with bright red.

“You _dare_ to-” Ba’al begins, his eyes glowing that fierce white, but he is stopped by further spanking. Proto-Ba’al flogs him with such strength that Ba’al jerks forward and shuts his mouth. The snaps and cracks are sharp, much more forceful than Sam’s own ordeal, much more inclined to leave lines of red wherever they hit. Ba’al’s back, his arms, his legs: they all become a map of lengthy welts. Proto-Ba’al isn’t just spanking its master, it’s beating him, and it seems happy to be doing it. It delivers a few swift smacks to Ba’al’s rigid cock, and he makes a sound that almost seems pitiful.

When it’s over, Proto-Ba’al slugs him across the face and makes sure to run appendages along his sensitive skin, just as he had with Sam. Ba’al hisses, scowling and shaking, as those appendages thrust into him. His groan this time is prolonged and quivering, straight from the bottom of his lungs.

_This is it_ , Sam thinks, the tentacle inside her pulsating and ready to move. She cries out at the first thrust, accompanied by another entrance into her ass, both exquisite now after all Proto-Ba’al has done to prepare her. The tentacles gleefully push and pull inside her with steadily increasing speed. Again, a tentacle invades her mouth, settling into the pace set by the other two. They’ve adapted to her, having stretched her all they can, and they match her shape with precision accuracy. Her walls are only too eager to tighten and release around their perfect match.

For the first time, she can taste Proto-Ba’al in her mouth: hot and sweet like cinnamon. The tentacle inside her pushes her up to the tentacle fucking her mouth, the tentacle fucking her mouth pushes her down to the tentacle inside her, and in her ass, an extra accompaniment ravishing her. She can hardly breathe fast enough to take them all. She hears squelching and slapping, feels a slow burn pooling inside. The tentacles ratchet up their pumping, and the speed catches her off guard. They go faster and faster still, her eyes widening as they jostle her around at a pace no human could meet. 

Suddenly from behind her, she hears what can only be a muffled scream, and she tilts her head back just far enough to see Ba’al losing it. His eyes are screwed shut and the tentacles are pegging him at the same impossible speed. He shakes violently as he’s pumped dry, spilling out onto the floor beneath him.

Sam can’t concentrate on watching him for long. Her back arches and her breathing becomes ragged. A high-pitched keen is blocked only by the tentacle in her mouth, and then everything goes white and she trembles as the rush hits her. All the heat built up within her cascades and crashes, wave after wave of pleasure knocking her senseless.

The tentacles stop, bulging and vibrating like before. She feels three lumps, one from each tentacle, and then three more, and three more again. Warmth erupts inside her, in her ass, in her mouth, a powerful explosion of fluid that forces the tentacles out, spraying everywhere like wild hoses.

The tentacles unfurl, Sam and Ba’al both dropping to the wet floor. It’s a hard landing and Proto-Ba’al doesn’t bother to catch them, a little preoccupied with its plentiful ejaculation.

Ba’al breathes heavily on his back across from her, erect again. He shuts his eyes, coming once more all over his hips. But he doesn’t do anything about it, just groans and lays his head back on the floor.

Proto-Ba’al’s spraying becomes muffled, like cotton balls have been stuffed in Sam’s ears. There’s a sound of rushing water, or rushing blood, her blood, her own pulse thrumming like a drum in her head. Her fingers twitch and no other movement seems feasible after that. 

Her eyelids droop. Her vision dims. Ba’al says something, his voice miles away. Fluid seeps out of her, pooling beneath her and still warm. 

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, the room is quiet and she is clean and dry, lying on a soft towel. Her clothes, folded neatly, are stacked in front of her, and beside the clothes is a full glass of water. Her lips part, dry and cracked, and only then does she realize how thirsty she is. Her arm is heavy as she reaches for the water and she sits up too quickly, making herself dizzy.

“You’re lucky you have any naquadah in your blood at all.”

She looks up and there is Ba’al, dripping wet as he exits one of the large tubes.

“If you hadn’t,” he continues, “you’d be a vegetable by now.”

Sam glowers at him, her throat still too dry to speak. She watches Ba’al seal himself in the other tube, which hums to life and blows air down onto him at hair-flattening speed. At least now she knows how she got clean.

She drains the last of the water and grabs her shirt. The sooner she doesn’t have to look at Ba’al’s smug face, the better. She rummages through the clothes for her bra until she remembers that it’s gone now, torn to shreds along with her underwear a long time ago.

Even when she throws her shirt on, she still feels cold and exposed.

When Ba’al emerges from the other tube, there’s no sign he was ever drenched in anything.

“The door is open,” he says, otherwise ignoring her as he takes hold of his own pile of fresh clothing. “The others will open as you leave.”

“That’s it?” she asks.

Ba’al’s face is stony as he tightens his belt. “Don’t tell me you want more?”

“After all that,” Sam says, “I just get to leave.”

“Those were the conditions, were they not?”

“I didn’t expect you to keep them,” Sam responds.

Ba’al shrugs on a new leather jacket. “Then I’d advise you to leave before I change my mind.”

Something drips behind her and she whirls around. Proto-Ba’al lies a few feet away, surrounded by the mess it’s made. Its slime is everywhere: all over the floor and the tables and all the machinery. The dripping comes from a few different sources, like the tabletops and the long streak left on the ceiling. Ba’al has a lot of cleaning up to do, and this doesn’t seem like the kind of place he’d let any remaining servants know about.

As for Proto-Ba’al , it looks dull and worn, like a deflated balloon. Its tentacles are flat, skinny, limp, and stray bits of liquid squirt out from a few of them. It’s a sickly picture.

“What’s wrong with it?” Sam asks, carefully standing up as she slips on her pants. She’s still a little woozy.

Ba’al frowns, glancing up from a data pad. “Simple exhaustion,” he says.

There’s a lot of that going around. Even Ba’al’s shoulders look a little slumped, and there’s a hint of bruising on his face.

Sam has been given plenty of invitations to exit, and she’s eager to do so while Proto-Ba’al lays prone. As she trudges through the muck on the floor, she spies something glistening near the door. It’s the needle of that monster syringe, and the glass is still full of whatever substance Ba’al had ready for her.

She picks it up.

“Put that down,” Ba’al says, his gaze steely. She has his full attention now, the data pad down at his side.

Sam glances over at Proto-Ba’al. Nothing has changed, except that the eye has followed her.

“Or what?” she asks.

The way Ba’al scowls at her like he’d enjoy crushing her throat with his mind is totally unnerving. She tightens her grip on the syringe and stares back.

“Get out,” Ba’al finally snarls.

Sam doesn’t turn her back to the two of them, not until she’s well concealed in the shadows and the door to the lab slides shut.

She takes it slow past the remaining doors, her legs sore with every step. She makes sure to scrape off any remaining goop from the heels of her boots along the way; there’s no way to explain that and she doesn’t want to have to try. Just the thought of it exhausts her even more.

She takes a few steadying breaths before approaching the final door. When it opens back up, her team is there, snapped to attention by the rumbling stone, and weary with relief at the sight of her. They rush to her side, and that alone is almost too much. They ask her if she’s okay, what happened, all very reasonable questions to ask after being alone with Ba’al for – she glances down at her watch. Two hours. Only two? It had to have been longer than that.

She shows them her souvenir, although she doubts it’s worth much if Ba’al let her walk out with it. But if there’s even one medical advancement that can be procured with it, that might be enough.

It’s hard not to feel like she’s walking around in a daze. One minute they’re underground, the next, they’re dialing the gate. At some point along their walk, she’d taken up the rear, and she glances back at the woods over her shoulder.

“Honestly,” Vala says. “Centuries to learn manners, and he’s still got none.”

She comes up close to Sam, enough so that their shoulders brush, and stays there all the way home.

Maybe someday, Sam thinks, she’ll have the words to express her gratitude for the small peace that brings her.

\---

It’s the third time she’s had to crawl back into bed. Jack’s breathing is quiet, so he’s awake with her again.

She pulls the covers back up over them both, and he puts his arm around her stomach.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Have you been waking up every time?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack replies, his voice rough with sleep.

It’s embarrassing. Waking herself up is one thing, but subjecting Jack to her fitful sleep is enough to make her face hot with guilt. This probably won’t be the last time she jerks awake tonight, either. She can’t seem to stop dreaming about being restrained.

She still wonders about the clone, what happened to it. She wonders if she’s the only one who can’t sleep now.

She sighs and readjusts. Jack nuzzles his face into the curve of her neck.

“Were you worried?” she asks.

“About what?” Jack’s breath is warm on her skin.

“When you heard about the last mission.”

Jack hasn’t asked about her time with Ba’al. Whether he’s beginning to fill blanks in now, adding together her restlessness and his own past experience, Sam has no idea.

“Oh, that,” Jack says. “Nah.”

Sam swallows, and her throat hurts.

Jack falls back to sleep after a few minutes. Sam stares at the wall and doesn’t close her eyes for a long time.


End file.
